Dovah to Dovahkiin
by Kainen-no-Kitsune
Summary: "Lydia, I don't know what's wrong with me but..." Paarthurnax has a major role since I was disappointed at the lack of stories with him even in it. Co-Authored with TinShadowcat.
1. Lonely Dovahkiin

Lydia sighed from her side of the tent. Things had been tight with the gold lately, so they sold the second tent and decided to share the one. Her Thane, a Breton woman named Galleia, kept sighing and tossing. Galleia had been like this ever since her trip up to the Throat of the World. Lydia had thought that she must still be trying to process whatever had happened up there, but it had been two weeks now. Finally, Lydia gave up on trying to sleep and turned to face her Thane.

"Milady, would you please tell me what's bothering you so that we may both get some sleep?" Lydia would normally never question her, but after so many nights with little sleep she had to, if only so that she could finally rest in peace.

"Lydia... I'm not ever sure what's bothering me myself. I just..." The Dragonborn turned over to face her follower in the darkness of the tent, the worry and fatigue shining through in the dull light making it's way through the canvas. "I... I don't know how to say this but..." the Breton woman was silent once again, her completely white eyes closing as she rolled onto her back and sighed once again.

"Whatever it is, my Thane, you know I will keep your secrets." Lydia may not talk to her much, but she had followed long enough to know that the Dragonborn was a inherently good person... even if she did have a penchant for taking things that don't exactly belong to her. That, and the woman had a bit of a sadistic streak. Truthfully, Lydia only knew that because her Thane had told her, she'd been lucky enough to never see it in action. "Under pain of death I have sworn to do whatever it takes to keep you happy and alive. If I need to keep a few secrets for you, well... that may very well be the easiest part of my job right now."

Galleia laughed, letting her head fall to the side so she was once again looking her companion in the eyes. "I don't believe death will have any part of it, though I might strangle you for a little while if you told anyone." She sighed once again and looked back at the canvas roof above her. She could see the multi-colored aurorae dimly through the small amount of holes in the top, gained through heavy use and being drug through everything from fights with dragons to slogging through sewers. "I don't know what's wrong with me, my friend. I am the Dovahkiin, Dragonborn. I am meant to slay dragons and hold their souls. I use those souls to power my shouts. So why..." The Thane of Whiterun went silent, staring at the lights flickering in and out of sight above her before sitting up and heading for the exit of the tent.

"I'm going for a walk, Lydia. I'll try and work off this extra energy." As she was climbing out, however, she looked back at her follower and smiled. It was not a happy smile, though. It was a smile filled with confusion, doubt, and most of all, pain.

"Lydia... I don't know what's wrong with me, but I think I'm in love with a dragon." She said, and climbed out into the wilderness to roam under the northern lights of Skyrim, leaving a stunned Lydia to try and process what in the void just happened.


	2. Musings of a Dovah

Galliea... what a strange name. The Dovah had an extensive knowledge of both the languages of men and Dovah, and the word Galliea, it has no meaning. Paarthurnax perched upon a stone pillar, watching the spot where the Dovahkiin had first appeared. She had unknowingly stood within the time ripple, and had only moved when the Dovah had told her all she needed to know. Just before the Dovah took off to return to meditation, the young half-elf* had walked up and raised her hand, asking for the Dovah's permission. For what, Paarthurnax had not known, but nodded consent to the request.

The Dovahkiin's next actions had surprised the centuries old Dovah. The female had placed her hands upon Paarthurnax's snout and lightly pressed her mouth to the plate right above the Dovah's nose before smiling and leaving. This had caused much confusion, for if memory served correct, that was a sign of affection within the human races. But what affection could the Dovahkiin hold for the old Dovah?

Paarthurnax wondered at what attachment this woman could have already. They had only talked for a matter of hours, most of that with her being silent and listening to the old Dovah speak, only asking occasional questions.

The Dovahkiin is however an observant being. She observed the dragon for long amounts of time, seemingly dissecting every word that reverberated in the air around her. She had seemed to have a small smile on her face for the whole time she had been within the Dovah's domain. And the dragon had been able to sense something in the air around her, some kind of reverberation that almost had a... happy feeling to it. Paarthurnax had watched her climb up the mountain, and even before that, whenever she had visited the sanctuary of the followers. This... aura had not been around her before, not even once, until she had come upon the throat of the world and met the old Dovah.

In a world where Power was knowledge, and knowledge was precious, this mystery was seemingly something that would need solving. Not that Paarthurnax was power hungry, but it was always best to be prepared for betrayal. It had happened before and may happen many more times to come. It is the nature of the Dovah. Dominate and Control.

This brought back another memory of the young Dovahkiin. She had been informed of this, in passing, and the knowledge had seemed to bring an even larger smile to her face. Also, the aura around her gave a shiver, and, if possible, became stronger. More visible, almost tangible in a sense.

Paarthurnax sighed, the air around him warming slightly from his naturally overheated breath. It was time for the Dovah to return to his meditation. Maybe trying to meditate over the meaning of the Dovahkiin's aura would bring around an answer. Within time, all knowledge reveals itself to the watchers. So Paarthurnax would wait, and observe this new Dovahkiin. And maybe one day, the Dovah would also find just why his mountain peak had seemed warmer when she had appeared.

All within time.

-  
>*just to clear up any confusion, the Bretons are considered to be half elf. As far as I know anyways.<p>

I am officially sick of the word Dovah. It sucks not assigning gender, but I can't do that except for within each others' minds until later. ;3

Personally, I think this chapter had a very minor case of serious brain damage. I just don't think I do old wise dragon trying to figure out foreign human emotion well.


	3. The Past is History

This chapter is the freak child of exhaustion, Cradle of Filth, and my brain.

You have been warned.

Galleia had always been alone. One of her earliest memories had been of the blood that splashed upon the closet door as she had hid. It had been one of the vented doors, and blood had seeped through, gathering her in crimson pools at her feet. She couldn't even remember anymore if it had been her parents, or if she might had been raised by bandits. The only detail that was important had been the blood. The bright, sticky, warm, crimson blood.

That had been the first time she went into a blood rage.

She didn't know why, but blood just... did something to her. She wasn't a vampire, that was for sure, but something about the liquid just attracted her. Even, maybe especially, at that young age, the pull had been irresistible. All she had known was that there was more outside and she HAD to have it. Now.

She had broke out of the closet and, wielding a small cutting knife she had found in the corner in a forgotten grain sack, had torn them apart. To tell the truth, this had been not the work of any of her own skill, but a combination of the attackers' weariness and that surprise their prey hadn't gone down without a fight. The little Breton girl slit the throats of the remaining men, and it was when she was licking the wounds that the blood bound rage from before started to disappear.

The young girl had been found the next day, curled up in the corner, covered in blood and tears, and scared mindless. No one ever found out that she had not been afraid of the bodies littered around her, but of what she had done to those bodies. Neighbors had heard the screams in the night, but none had been willing to interfere themselves and simply called the guards from the nearest city.

Growing up, Galleia refused to speak to anyone. She often spent long days locked in her room at the High Rock orphanage simply meditating. She had to understand herself, had to understand that rage. She had to know what made her do that. It hadn't been until half a decade later, Galleia now being what she thought to be fifteen, that she got her answer.

She had been watching the world through her window, long since figuring that is was her nature that had made her act like that. How could this nature be so beautiful, but her own be so horrifying? As she had observed, she had seen one of the younger boys, just transferred from a far away orphanage called Honorhall, strangle a squirrel that he had managed to get his hands on. Instead of being disgusted, she simply wondered 'why?'

Why, why must innocent children such as her and that boy be twisted, internally deformed by nature? Why, Dibella, must they suffer? Where, Stendarr, was the justice in doing this to them? What sadistic God had done this? Her vision had started to turn red as she ranted. Her blood boiled as she watched the boy beat the squirrel over and over, crying as the bones in its neck snapped and the small creature died. And then it left, in such a rush that it make her fall to her knees. And it was here, bent on her knees by loss of that red haze, that she realized.

Blood and the trail of death. She could feel the small cold that the passing of the squirrel had caused, but it had not just been that. A small part of the boy's soul had passed too, with that animal. The pain of the boy had brought that blood rage, though not making her mindless as the real thing had. And in that rage, she could feel death, and death was not a warm embrace by the Gods. Death was a void. Death was pain. Death was blood.

She was death.

Not death himself, no. She was also no servant of Sithis. She held some small part of death within her, that changed her, scarred her very soul. And that soul wanted blood, control, and submission.

After that, she spent all her time trying to learn how to control that part of death. She meditated longer, she began talking again (much to the surprise of the matron and the other children), and, over all, she tried to become more mortal than any mortal. She came to understand all that was mortal. From weakness to pain, love to joy, she knew about it even if she had not experienced some of it.

Over time, she fed herself of her own blood, finding that it also brought her into a rage. She taught herself control, angering her inner death, and feeding the inner human. She studied the deities, finally coming across Molag Bal, the Daedric prince of Domination.

She figured that her parents might have been avid worshipers of the Prince, even offering their child's soul (or at least part of it). Since then she taught herself to be the opposite of what he stood for. Where he sought submission, she searched for domination.* She would be herself.

She would not be controlled by anyone but herself.

*Two things here, 1. Anyone remembering last chapter when he mentioned the nature of dragons? hehe. 2. Yeah, my Galleia is sub-dominant. She tries not to be, but you can tell it's still coming through from the last sentence. She's a bit contradictory like that.


	4. Perception of the Eye

Galleia had only joined the Collage of Winterhold a few weeks ago, but her magical capabilities were already rapidly expanding. She had always been largely proficient in the destruction school, and had sometimes used conjuration in a pinch, though she had never once cast a restoration spell. Why go through the trouble of taking the time to concentrate on a different spell in the middle of battle when you could just as easily retreat and drink a few potions? But alteration... that was what held her interest so much.

The ability to alter the world around you... It had so many possibilities.

She sighed as she made her way up the spiral staircase to the Arch-Mage's chambers. They had found a strange artifact within the depths of Saarthal, and her teacher had deemed it of enough importance that he sent an initiate to disturb the Arch-Mage. Truthfully, she had a horrible feeling about this. That seemed to happen a lot lately.

She had found the Elder Scroll and looked through the time wound, learned the Dragonrend shout, and fought Alduin. The World Eater had fled when she had not been as easy of prey as he had thought. Soon after, she had gone back down the mountain to confront the Greybeards about this. She had to find that dragon before he could regain his strength. The last fight had almost killed her, she had mostly been lucky. Paarthurnax had saved her more than once, distracting Alduin while she drank a potion behind cover.

The Greybeards had suggested that she question a Dovah who was still allied with him about his whereabouts. As to how to find the dragon, the Blades had the answer to that. Galleia scowled just at the thought of that order. They had suggested that she use Dragonsreach to hold a dragon captive, and had even supplied a name to call. All had been fine until she had talked to the Jarl of Whiterun.

She had to agree with the man that it was dangerous to try and trap a dragon with the threat of war on their heels. Void, even calling the dragon was dangerous, but if some kind of fight broke out while they were holding it, the Dovah, Odaviing, would most likely escape and wreak havoc on the hold. So with that, she convinced the Greybeards to hold a peace council.

Ulfric Stormcloak was an obnoxious, power hungry bastard. General Tullius was an arrogant tyrant who thought everyone was a waste of his time. She couldn't stand either of them. And then the Blades and that Thalmor bitch had shown up. Ulfric had started complaining, Tullius had started complaining, and she had had enough.

"Silence!" she had yelled. It had not been a shout, but it reminded them of who they were dealing with. "The Blades are here because they supplied information, the Thalmor are here because they have control over the empire. Both are allowed, now SHUT UP." Ulfric seemed to have blown her off, instead choosing to glare at the Thalmor. Fine by her, long as he kept his silence. Tullius instead chose to look Galleia over, having heard about her power. At lleast the man had a brain.

With everyone finally silent, Arngeir began the 'peace' talk. Over far too much arguing, and everybody putting all decisions on her, they finally decided over the terms and left, leaving Galleia sitting alone. She had sighed as she slid down in her (admittedly uncomfortable) chair. A shadow fell over her from the right, and there had been Delphine. At the time she had thought pf the woman as sort of friend and smiled at her, giving her greetings. It had taken her a moment to register the woman's words through her exhaustion.

When she understood though, her look turned murderous. The air hung with the intent to kill. Those... milk-drinkers wanted her to kill Parrthurnax! She had growled and pulled her weapon on the woman, threatening to shout her to the void should they ever again mention this. The had had the gall to ask, no, to order her to kill the old Dovah. He who had spent years alone on the mountain meditating to control his nature. She had nearly cut her throat there, but instead commanded the woman to leave. The bitch had had the audacity to tell her that unless she did it they would no longer offer her their help. That could be returned, since they seemed to rely on her help to get anything done.

In anger, she had took off. The truce had no time limit, it lasted until the dragon was trapped and Alduin was dead. Screw all of them, she needed time to cool down. So she had gone back to the College of Winterhold, and here she was now. She had sent Lydia back to Whiterun to tell Balgruuf of the truce a week ago, and didn't expect her back for a couple more weeks.

Galleia opened the door before her and gazed at the beautiful center piece in the Arch-Mage's room. The floating lights actually rather dazzled her. There was just something so entrancing about them, the way the rainbows seem to grow out of them when she got close. It brought a smile to her face. She shook her head, still grinning, and turned to give her superior the news. Once it had been delivered, he had given her a staff, and left to check on the orb himself. She then went back to her dorm and sat on the edge of her bed. She lifted her staff, pointing it at the wall, and ran her power through it. The Arch-Mage hadn't told her what it did, and she gasped when a bright light flew out the end and attached to the wall. A grin spread wide over her face, then laughs slowly took her over, growing until her neighbors started looking into her doorway wondering what on Nirn was so funny.

Her laughs took her down onto her bed, and she curled around herself, face buried in her pillow with laughter still shaking her body every now and then. Eventually it died down and she sat up, finding her pillow wet. She hadn't just been laughing. She wiped off her face and sat up to stare at the fading light on her wall and sighed. There were so few things that just the sight of made her happy. In fact, there were two. Those lights... and Paarthurnax.

Galleia groaned, and buried her face in the pillow again. She loved the Dovah, she really did. It scared her, because, truthfully, it wasn't even possible in the slightest. The dragon didn't even really have a gender, she knew that, it was just easy and mostly harmless to call him a him. He was the reason alteration intrigued her so much. She had thought maybe, just maybe, she might be able to make a spell that would do... something. Conjuration to make a body and she might be able to use some kind of alteration spell to create some kind of... window. Just the tiniest window, to allow the dragon's consciousness through.

She laughed, the very idea was ridiculous. First, Paarthurnax would never consent to it. What attachment did he have to her? If they were anything, it was simply friends, maybe. Second, the amount of power it would take to create a permanent body, without a preexisting body and necromancy being involved, would be tremendous. A preexisting body would just be wrong. She refused to even entertain the thought of putting the great dragon into a body that once belonged to someone else. Besides, it would look wrong. And she... no. No necromancy. Lastly... it was just that it was impossible.

Galleia rolled onto her back, watching the last small bit of light fade away from the wall. Symbolic, that. She sighed once again (she seemed to be doing that a lot lately), and covered herself, curling on her side in the bed. As she drifted away to the land where Vaermina cursed her dreams with the past, she thought of what a human Paarthurnax would look like. He was... She fell asleep.

-1 week later-

Ancano fell to the floor in a crumpled heap once she removed her war axe from between his ribs. With his last breaths he complained about how all that power should have been his, which seemed a bit of a waste to Galleia. The large sphere floated in front of her, still twisting every now and then with power. Everyone else was still outside, waiting for her to come and get them and tell them that their imminent demise had been held off. That was when she noticed it. A plate, one of the smallest ones, looked loose. The power of the orb was throughout the whole thing, creating a thing of enormous strength, but just a piece...

She quickly ran up and dug her blade under the plate, catching it as it fell off, and hid it in the back of her leather armor, the edges digging against the small of her back. The Psijics appeared and took the damned orb away, either not noticing the small piece gone, or believing it to be a piece lost in time. Fine with her. Once they were gone, she could still feel a large amount of power radiating from the piece at her back. It was nowhere near the power of the monstrosity that the Eye had been, but maybe she could make a staff with this and... Her eyes widened.

Maybe it was enough.

-  
>AN: Truthfully, I had tried to actually kill Delphine (She's the one who told me on this save, and I didn't like her anyways) when she tried to tell me to kill Paarthurnax. Unfortunately, she's essential. Sob. Oh well.

I tried to make this longer than normal to make up for the wait, but I really don't know if it is or not. I write all of these in Notepad, so I don't have a word count meter. Haha, oh well. I already have an idea for the next chapter.

Yay! ;3


	5. Carving Runes

To Lisa: Thanks for the advice. It seems like it's spur of the moment because it is. I write off the top of my head and don't plan stories and my only planning is the few clear points in my head that I come up with before the story. I just can't plan, if I do I end up hating the story and never wanting to write it. I almost didn't even write this story, but there were no stories with Paarthurnax, so compulsion took over. Like I said at the beginning of chapter three, it was a freak child. I could just remove chapter three, but something about the 'wrongness' factor in it just appeals to me, ya know?

The problem with establishing her attraction to Paarthurnax actually lies with me. The first time I played this game (Galleia's save) I had a weird attraction to him. I'm basing this whole story on that. Galleia doesn't know why she's so attracted to him because I don't know why I'm so attracted to him.

As for turning him into a human, it's badly explained because it's still supposed to be in the works. She doesn't know how to do it. It makes me sad that she seems selfish, but she wasn't just gonna go "poof, you're human, isn't that wonderful?" Heck, she doesn't even know what to do with the eyepiece, just that it's a possibility, and a possibility is better than nothing, né?

A/N: So yeah, if Galleia seems selfish, well, she's still a person isn't she? Why does she have to be a paragon of morality? She's just a normal woman, just the slightest bit shallow, who was forced into being a hero for all of Nirn. (mostly Skyrim though.)

A/N 2: Yep, I almost completely gave up on this. I was actually about to post a note saying that when someone added me to their favorite authors list and I just couldn't. So, I re-read the story and came up with something. ;3 And now I'm even writing in word since my computer got an overhaul. So now the quality of my stories should improve. Yay, spell check!

Paarthurnax silently watched the young Breton from his perch on top of the word wall that marked the top of the mountain. Of course, the influx of her visits had not been lost on any of the one's who knew her. The Nordic woman who occasionally visited was uncomfortable every time she came up here, glancing between the dragon slayer and the dragon. The Dovah could even hear the confusion of the Greybeards in the shouts preceding their meditation; it was mixed with hints of pride and a type of warmth that seemed to come from the young woman's presence.

The old Dovah knew that since she had slain Alduin, the Dovahkiin had stayed almost full time at the sanctuary. She visited the mountaintop every day while she was there. She often told the Dovah stories of the sights of the outside world, the sights that the Dovah had not seen in many long generations, confined to this mountain top.

During the nights, Paarthurnax could feel the influx of magic upon the air. It floated with the breeze, smelling of water and burning leaves. It was obvious that these feelings were originating from the young woman sitting in the snow now, silently carving a long piece of wood with a steel dagger. It seemed as if she were carving a type of staff, as the wood was not flexible enough to be turned into a bow.

The staff was actually turning out quite beautifully. At the moment, the Dovahkiin was working on the carvings just below the carved circle which held an odd head-piece. It was made of a brown stone that had a strange metallic hue that shone as the blade with which she carved. The flashing of the blade drew the Dovah's attention back to the simple carvings that were being etched into the staff. She appeared to be etching the ancient Nordic runes for life, stability, eye, dragon, change, and Nord circling all the way up, slowly tracing into the tail of a great dragon whose wings framed the stone. It's claws seemingly dug into the stone with the figure's head lowering, a single rune, this time in the language of the Dovah, etched into it's forehead between it's two horns. The single word etched into the wood of the skull was "Dovah."

What was the little half-elf doing? Paarthurnax slid onto the ground, simply content, for now, to watch as she carved.

I feel guilty that the A/Ns are longer than the actual story. I realized that I had to force this chapter, and that's just not good for a story.


	6. The Passing of Years

You guys know what's good for the thought process? Biscuits and gravy with fried potato pieces and a big glass of milk. And good reviews. I love you guys, cause I suddenly came up with the first line of this chapter after reading a lovely review. Thanks Zhora (and Moojuice, because I love your name!)

Years passed, and Galleia eventually convinced the Greybeards to let her build a small home on top of the peak. With the help of Paarthurnax and the few people left in the world that she trusted, she actually carved a small cave into the very peak of the mountain, across from the word wall. It had taken nearly a year to put up the intricate tubing that would run through all the walls of her cave, and to build a front face to cover the hole. The tubing would meet and form three larger tubes, under each of which a fire would be lit, conveying heat to most of the house. In theory at least.

The front wall of the house was actually moveable, so that during the day, she could slide back the large wood and stone wall, and her favorite dragon could sit in the entrance if he so wished. In the last… five years, about? The two had become very close, often sitting and discussing long into the night about everything, and sometimes nothing.

These talks always enthralled the woman. Over her life she had always posed serious philosophical questions like "Dose a murderer deserve to die if killing him will leave his wife and children alone?" She had asked these questions of the various friends she had been with over the years. They had all either made a joke of it, or given half-assed answers and refused to seriously consider further points. It was refreshing to be able to seriously consider and discuss the world with someone.

Of course, Galleia couldn't stay up there all the time. She was still Arch-Mage for the college, and lately unrest had been stirring. The anti-mage groups had gotten rowdy. Truthfully, she thought, it had probably only been her presence keeping the fights at bay, and the longer she disappeared atop her mountain, the worse things became.

A year passed. Galleia started staying at the college almost full time, for if she left, the murders started up again. Every time a mage left the walls without her present in Winterhold, they would either turn up dead or beaten. She soon recalled all court mages from their services in the different holds, and turned the school into a fortress. All had to be magically screened to enter the great walls.

And then the worst happened… The rest of Winterhold collapsed. Only the college of magi remained standing. Galleia traveled, and talked to all the Banns, trying to convince them that it was not the mages who had caused it. However, few listened. The only ones who would believe her were Balgruf and the man who lead Markarth. Most only listened to her out of courtesy of her being the Dragonborn. She was even denied entrance to Windhelm.

When she returned to the college, she found her mages holding off an invasion. A mass of people had gathered around the barely-surviving bridge to the school. That bridge had likely been the only thing that had saved her mages, since it forced the invaders to rush them in almost single file. She could see that the large gates had been sealed shut with a barrier put around it to keep any lucky survivors out. As soon as she was seen, the crowed turned on her. With a few shouts, some summoning spells, and the flurry of her two war axes, she managed to thin the crowd enough to run towards the gates. Once she reached the gates, she held off the encroaching invaders while her people opened the gates for her. Once she was in, she used the force of her voice to clear the bridge so that the gates may again be closed.

The crowd around the walls of the fortress continued to grow day after day. The numbers at the school had grown over the years, so they were able to hold the barrier at all times. Finally, one day a messenger arrived. Balgruuf would support the mages. When the next messenger arrived he wasn't alone.

The messenger was accompanied by a black cloaked elf of the Aldmeri Dominion. They would support her mages if she would help to finally end the civil war that had raged over the years. They believed that her support on the side of the Imperium would finally end the costly war. Galleia had no choice but to agree.

The elves soon appeared in mass, slaughtering those that did not run. She surrendered control of the college to the dominion. She could no longer adequately protect it, but they valued magical ability, so they would.

And with these events, the Mages joined the war.

Unfortunately I have to wait for my internet to come back on to post this. For whatever reason, my internet stops working during the night. It sucks, but I guess you guys could happy about it, cause it left me without the distraction of reading.


	7. Feeding the Beast

Welp, since I'm still bored, I'm going to start on the next chapter already. Aren't I nice?

The war continued for almost a year. During this year, she was closely watched be the Empire, so she did not return to her mountain home. She ran between cities, saving mages, ending rebellions, and raiding enemy forts. Finally the day came when they raided Windhelm, going after the leader of the rebels himself, that damned arrogant prig Ulfric Stormcloak. General Tullius and herself fought through the city, having to slaughter innocents and soldiers alike. When they reached the castle, the soon to be dead man sat in his throne.

"Dragonborn, how could you betray your people like this? You will leave us to rot under Elvin rule? You would have forsaken our beliefs?" So, the bastard himself dared to call her a traitor?

"No, I would have you stop the meaningless deaths of many. I would have you stop abusing your gift for the voice on this petty war. None had to truly abandon Talos until you threw your fucking hissy-fit. I'm tired of your Bull-shit, Jarl! I'm done with this war." And with that she shouted fire onto the man, leaving him to burn in his chair. Her long practice with Paarthurnax had shaped her natural talent into a deadly weapon. Her and Tullius quickly finished off the Jarl's assistant and stood, watching the former Jarl writhe on the floor, trying to extinguish the flames quickly consuming all that fancy clothing he wore.

They left in silence. Galleia returned to Solitude with the General, received her reward for ending the life of the warmonger, and left. First, she returned to Winterhold, and checked on the college. The Aldmeri and stripped her of her Arch-mage title, preferring one of their people holding the title, but the people of the college still respected her as if she were their leader. After all, she had saved their lives.

Once she was sure they were all fine, she traveled south, to Whiterun. Jarl Balgruf had been a friend to her throughout the war, and she wanted to thank him for all of his help. It was as she was leaving Dragonsreach that she was ambushed by the Aldmeri.

They knew that she was single, or at least they knew that they had never seen nor heard of her being with anyone. The elves wanted her to marry one of them. She was considered a hero by the people, both for stopping the war, and ending the Soul Eater. She tried to refuse.

And that got her a lovely visit to one of their Dungeons, where she found that some of the people of the Dominion were fond of torture.

But they soon found out that she was too. Just not in the way they expected.

They kept Galleia locked in that dungeon for months, keeping her gagged and bound. At first they tried to be nice enough, simply not feeding her or using occasional beatings. However when her only responses to their demands was "Oh, hit me again!" they moved on to more extreme methods. The whip seemed to have the same adverse effect that the beatings did, and branding only got a minimal amount of results. Soon enough they moved on to magic. Finally, she had enough when they threatened disfigurement.

She had long since hid a lockpick under the straw of her bed. She had broken out of her cell multiple times, stocking things for her break out. She had hidden a worn set of leathers and a very nice dagger she had found in the barrel close to her little room. By now, it had been so long that they didn't think she'd escape. They didn't even check her gag everyday anymore. Which was bad, since she'd long since figured out how to break the enchantment on it.

"Well boys, it's been fun, but I'd prefer to keep my pretty face intact." She destroyed everyone in the mansion that she had been held in. Eventually she even found the items she had been captured with. Some of the smaller things, such as potions had been removed, but her weapons and armor were there. She took everything expensive that she could carry and left.

After a quick bath in a nearby stream, she began the track back to her home upon the mountain. The Dominion hunted her, but there were many thankful people willing to hide her, and if she didn't want to be found, she would not be found. With a months slow travel, she reached Whiterun, from where she would travel around the mountain to the home of the Grey Beards. She wondered if they were all still alive. In Whiterun, she found Lydia, and the woman offered to help her get back to her home on the mountain. After all, she was still her Thane. The two women traveled around the mountain to the north. They avoided the road as much as possible, both knowing this country from their travels during the dragon crisis.

They sometimes had to murder scouts to keep their position from being known, but they must have missed one. Once they reached the town that sat at the base of the mountain (The name slipped Galleia's mind. She thought it started with an I, but whatever.) a group of Aldmeri elves were questioning the towns folk as to her whereabouts. However it was useless, since she hadn't been to this small Hamlet in nearly 2 years. All they knew was that she had gone off to fight the war and never came back.

The two were nearly through the town when they were stopped by a young Dark Elf. The young man seemed nervous that he was even here.

"E-excuse me Mam, uh, Mam's, but I have to ask you some questions. I need to ask you t-to take off your hood… please." He barely even looked at her as he shuffled his feet. At least the lad didn't stare at the dirt.

"I'm afraid my face is disfigured, and I prefer to keep covered at all times." The boy flinched when she talked and started nodding almost immediately.

"O-of course Madam. Well… have you seen a blond Breton with white eyes pass through?" The boy looked up to stare at what little he could see of her face.

"No, I'm just passing through myself. I heard the trip up the steps is lovely this time of year." That must have been the wrong thing to say because something in the boy's eyes changed. Damn.

"Of course Mam. Beautiful. But I must ask that you take off your hood." Double Damn.

Galleia surveyed her surroundings, searching for more of the searchers. There appeared to be none in the vicinity, so she slowly pulled her hood down with one hand. They boys eyes widened, his mouth opening to shout for help, when her other hand slit his throat with the dagger she had hidden in the other hand since he appeared.

Lydia helped her quickly hide the body in the bushes next to the river and they made their way up the steps. They ran into no more opposition on the way up the mountain… well, excluding that one frost troll that seemed to reappear no matter how many times she killed it. They finally reached the sanctuary near the top of the mountain. Lydia, however, seemed reluctant to leave.

"My Thane… Galleia, I don't trust those elves to stay down there at the bottom of the mountain. I would like to stay up here with you, to make sure." The Breton was astounded. She had considered her Housecarl as a type of friend for years, but this offer might very well end up with he woman being ostracized from the country. Lydia wasn't stupid, she likely knew this.

"Lydia, I trust you to know the consequences of this, and if you still want to do it… I thank you, my friend. There is no one I would rather have." Well… that might be a bit of a lie, but Paarthurnax already lived on top of the mountain so… yeah.

"Liar." Her friend smiled, and the two made their way up to the top of the mountain.

Wow, a whole three pages. I feel special. My longest chapter, and it's mostly filler. :(


	8. Burning Down Time

Dear **DeadraV. **: Thanks for your reviews! I appreciate your tips, and don't think I didn't consider them, but they just didn't work with my idea of the story. As I've mentioned before in this story, Galleia is based on my first playthough. On that playthrough, I didn't use shouts very much. To compensate for that, I imagine that Galleia is freaked out by the shouts, considering that she grew up in High Rock. She did not grow up with the tales of the Dragon Born or Alduin, and the first she heard of "Shouting" was that the man she was riding next to shouted a man to pieces. Now, for all her life Galleia has struggled with herself for control. The idea of her very _voice_ causing destruction scares her, because she fears she might not be able to keep herself from using it. This isn't to say that she's stupid, she knows that the ability to shout is a huge tactical advantage, so she does use her voice. Just not very often. So yeah, lolz.

As for your sarcasm suggestion, she was past the point of coming up with witty repartee. Imagine being told you have to kill the one you love because they are "a monster." She, at this point, was so pissed that Delphine was lucky that she wasn't set on fire, dissected, and fed to skeevers. Also covering your "turned into dragon" theory. Galleia is already attracted to Paarthurnax's personality. The point of giving him a mortal body is to establish a type of sexual attraction, along with the comfort of being with someone that's not 10x your size. So turning Galleia into a dragon would completely negate the original point of changing one of them, seeing as how dragons are genderless. Also, with Galleia's control issues, I imagine her turning into a dragon would end very badly.

Though it does make for a good idea in my head. Galleia goes on a rampage, without the Dragonborn no one is able to stop her, Paarthurnax has to leave the mountain… Only problem is that I can't think of a good way to get her back to her mortal body without killing her. Which would ruin the story that I have planned. Lolz.

A/N: And now that I have my long Anon review of the day replied to, we shall continue with the story. And thanks to all the other Anon reviewers.

Years passed on top of that mountain. Galleia dared not leave, lest the Dominion catch her. Her connection to the outside world was tenuous at best. Her only sources of information came from the few things that the Greybeards would hear from their monastery and the snippets of rumors that Paarthurnax would catch floating upon the wind rising from Ivarstead. She had become the renegade hero, considered as bad as Ulfric Stormcloak himself in some circles. While this irked her to no end, there was simply nothing she could do, she was confined… Slowly, ever so slowly, Galleia was going crazy.

This stagnant waiting, this never ending _confinement _was driving her _insane!_ She would not be Controlled! But there was no choice. If she were to leave the throat, or even venture beyond the monastery, she would be captured in short order, and this time there would be no lovely rack waiting to stretch her out beyond her body's true confinements. No, this time there would only be the blade of an executioner's axe.

The only way for Galleia to retain her mind, her self, and not give in to Sheogorath's whisperings, was for her to focus on the little things. It was the details that kept her running. For the first year she spent her time carving. Whether it be a new room carved into stone to separate herself from her constant companion, Lydia, or just simple decorations on the furniture. After that time blurred. She carved more rooms into the face of the mountain. Eventually she had two bedrooms, a practice room for her magic, and the main room that she had originally started with.

She trained everyday. Where once she had never even used a bow, she was now able to hit a still target strait in the Bulls-eye every time. Her magic had improved drastically, and even her fear of shouting had been overcome just so that she would have one more thing to work on, one more thing to distract her. One more thing to keep the whispering madness away. But lately, none of it had proven a challenge. There was only so much you could learn from a still target, and only so many words in the same book, no mater how many times you read it. Nothing was distracting any more, and slowly the insanity was creeping closer.

Finally she could stand it no more, if she stayed she would snap and do or say something she might regret. She ran at full speed down the mountain, reveling in the freedom that the wind blowing through her hair made her feel. She ran, and ran, and only slowed once she reached the monastery. Even from the other side of the arch, she could tell something was wrong. The smell of burning bodies drifted on the once clear air towards her.

In the great courtyard of High Hrothgar, a grand pyre burned sparks floating up and disappearing into the sky. The fire had only recently been started, and Galleia could still make out a white cloaked figure laying upon the top of the bed of wood. She stood frozen as she watched the fire slowly reach up and devour the ceremonial robes of an 'ascended' Greybeard, which was really just a fancy word for died and moved on to Sovnguard.

At a safe distance from the pyre, just far enough to keep their fancy grey beards from catching fire (Damn her sick sense of humor for popping up at a time like this!), knelt the surviving Brothers. Not a one of them looked up as she slowly approached; her eyes fixed upon each of their faces, searching for the one who was gone. Arngeir… Borri… Wulfgar… No Einarth. Galleia fell to her knees beside Brother Wulfgar and bowed her head.

Einarth was dead, and the Greybeards were down to three.

I'm going to cut this off here because I want to give you guys a warning. From this chapter on, this story will be co-authored with TinShadowcat. He's motivating me to write again, but this means there will be changes, one of which being the introduction of a minor (for now) OC.

Luv Ya'll.

I'm looking forwards to co-writing with Dovah to Dovahkiin, updates should be fairly regular now. I'll be taking care of story planning and (hopefully) fleshing it out a bit more than it was previously. Most of the actually writing will still be done by Kit, but I might be doing some sentence/grammar/spelling tweaking, too. I know a lot of you aren't huge fans of OC's, but I'll try my best to not make him stick out like a sore thumb. I'll also probably be answering most of the questions/suggestions, unless they're directed at Kit. Peace! ~Tin


	9. Consuming Death

I feel like my nose is being run through a grinder. My co-writer makes me want to bash my head against a wall. And CHEESE FOR EVERYONE! That is all.

Months passed and time marched on. Galleia started staying almost full time at the sanctuary, mourning and searching. The Greybeards wished to find a new apprentice. The death of one of their own had made them realize that they were all soon approaching death's door. Galleia could not be one of the Greybeards for... obvious reasons, but they wished for the opinion of the Dovahkiin none the less.

Pilgrim after pilgrim climbed the 7,000 steps, each hoping to join the revered order. Their hopes drove their steps as they climbed, and without that hope the climb back down was long, sometimes even lethal. With every disappointment the Greybeards seemed to become discouraged. Eventually, they couldn't even face the hopefuls anymore; this left their judgment entirely to Galleia.

Unlike her teachers, Galleia did not become discouraged. With every visit, and every consequential failure, her anger and restlessness grew. On her few visits back up to her home on the Throat of the World, Lydia seemed worried about her. She could never stay still, even during the time that she used to reserve for meditation. She spent hour upon hour pacing, or practicing in the weapons room. Paarthurnax even seemed to worry about her growing obsession, in his own way.

There _must_ be someone worthy of being a Greybeard out there! Every possible initiate so far had been worthless. Half of them didn't even know her proper title! It took years of study to become part of this order, even before trying to 'apply'. If these fools couldn't even identify basic Dovah language, how were they supposed to master complex shouts and phrases in the years to come? She definitely didn't think any of them worthy of sharing the secret at the top of Monahven, the Throat of the World. This wasn't some game that you won to gain prestige, this was a lifetime commitment. Galleia let out a short scream and punched the sand filled bag hanging from the rough rock ceiling.

When trying to beat her frustrations out of the helpless bag didn't work, she bolted out of her home. She ran, past Lydia, knocking her off her feet as she was about to enter the practice room. Past Paarthurnax, who was atop his usual spot on the wordwall, staring intently down the mountain towards High Hrothgar. Faster and faster, she ran down the mountain and burst into the monastery.

"If this new initiate will not come to us, I shall go to him." She announced as she came before the Greybeards. They were gathered in the main hall, for what she didn't care. She must find an initiate, she must _get out of here._ Then one of them laughed. The laugh was tinged not with amusement but with relief.

"Dear Dovahkiin, you need not search any longer. He has come." Arngeir, the brother who had laughed, stepped to the side. Standing behind him was a man in a black robe, the robes of an initiate greybeard. His face was shadowed by the hood of his robe, and all she could see was the small smile on the man's face, and the long black beard that trailed down onto his chest. Through his beard, a green amulet shined with an ominous light, a skull winking out at her from between the strands of hair.

"Greetings, Dovahkiin. I am Vincent Moartea." The initiate, now identified as Vincent, gave a small bow in her direction. As he rose she gained a glimpse of his eyes.

Some called her eyes unnerving. It was understandable. For as long as she could remember, her eyes had been pure white, as white as fresh snow. But this man's eyes… They were not the unending whiteness of her own, but the filmed, unseeing eyes of the blind. However, as they locked on to her, she knew this was not true.

As his hood fell back into place, covering those seeing blind eyes, she noticed that the air around her seemed charged. She narrowed her eyes at him, offering her hand. Maybe the touch of his skin would tell her something about this strange initiate. As he moved closer, the feeling grew stronger. It whirled through the air. She could feel…

The warm squirting of the bandit's blood upon her face…

The coldness of the grave, surrounding her, as she walked among the dead…

As he grabbed her hand the world around her spun and she trembled. Her head was filling with the red shadow that summoned the rage. No… This… This should not be happening…

"You smell of blood." She whimpered, and surrendered herself to the darkness in her mind.

Dun dun DUN… Hallo Mr. OC. His last name, Moartea, is Romanian for Death. According to Google translate at least. Blech. 'Least it's done. Sorry for any mistakes in the lore during this story BTW. My little 'co-author' friend STOLE MY COPY! Yeah you, You who you are. - Kit

Sorry, I think you misspelled "borrowed for the last 10 months." I justify it with the fact that my Skyrim went all harakiri on me the second I put it in my Xbox. Speaking of which, add me (TinShadowcat) if you ever want to play Minecraft/Grand Theft Auto/UFC 3 with me and Kit. I don't know if she wants me to give out her gamertag, so I won't. Feel free to leave a review, we don't know what to change if you guys don't tell us what you do/don't like! While I don't reply to all of them, I DO read all of them, so they're much appreciated. This was a fun chapter to write, I've been ready to introduce Vincent for awhile. Thanks for reading! -Tin


	10. Sil'Sinak

"Dammit..." groaned Vincent as he opened his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing headache he found himself with. As he turned onto his side, he noticed the Dovahkiin was still unconscious. Slowly getting to his feet, he closed his eyes, grabbing his head in an attempt to suppress the sudden wave of dizziness that came over him. Once the pounding calmed, he slowly raised his head from his hands and noticed the Greybeards looking at him with a mixture of shock, anger, and perhaps even a bit of fear.

"What have you done, apprentice!?"

"I...I don't know," said Vincent, although he had an idea as to the cause of their little incident. "She touched me, and everything went black."

"We need to tend to the Dovahkiin, but don't think you have escaped further questioning. If you've recovered, so will the Dovahkiin." No sooner did Arngeir say that than did a very confused, and very angered, Breton rise unsteadily to her feet. As Vincent opened his mouth to utter an apology, he found himself slammed against the wall with a pair of hands at his throat, slowly tightening in an attempt to cut off his oxygen.

"You!" She growled, a crazed look in her eye. "Who are you!?"

"Please, Dovahkiin, I have no quarrel with you. Let me go so we may talk about this, instead of fighting like beasts." He could barely summon the air to speak, but he could see the animal violence in his eyes and knew that she was beyond reasoning with. Galleia released one hand from his throat, allowing him a few gasps of air. However, when she pulled out a carving knife from her pouch and pressed it just below his chin, that air froze in his chest. "I want an answer! Who are you, and why are you really here?"

"To learn the Way of the Voice." said Vincent, wincing as the knife cut in to his skin. He felt Galleia's dagger draw a trickle of blood that slowly ran down his neck.

"Not the answer I wanted." She growled as she drew her arm back, the knife flashing as it rose in the air. The world seemed to slow and his mind raced. He needed a way out and quick. Her arm finished its ascent and she froze, staring him in the eyes. He could see the angry bubbling hatred, and he knew it couldn't be just for him. "Dir voth ahkrin, Daanik'Gein." Die with courage, Doomed One. The knife began it's decent.

"Dovahkiin, calm yourself!" said Arngeir. He grabbed Galleia's arm in mid-strike, stopping the knife mere inches from its target. The old man was incredibly calm considering the circumstances. "We can't afford to lose another apprentice. He shall be dealt with, but not like this!"

Galleia growled once again, her eyes never leaving his. She angrily yanked her arm free of the Brother's grasp and shoved her knife back into its pouch, releasing Vincent after a final vicious squeeze to his throat. He coughed and wheezed heavily in the thin mountain air. "If he approaches the mountain, I cannot guarantee he will return in one piece." She turned toward the doors at the back of the sanctuary and stormed out. He stared after her, snow blowing into the sanctuary. Once she was gone, the Greybeards escorted him to his room, a tiny alcove with scarcely enough room for a bed. Although there was no door, Vincent had no doubt he was not allowed to leave. As he pondered his fate and attempted to tame his racing pulse, he sheathed the dagger hidden within his robes.

Tin's AN: *Saxophone solo here* If you get the title reference, I love you. Sorry about the short chapter, but the next one should be out fairly soon. This was originally supposed to be in three parts, but that ended up at 2,000 words, as opposed to the 1,000 we try to aim for. Therefore, you have a 700 word chapter for now. This chapter was written mostly by me, with some (giggle) editing from Kit. It might be a bit different from what you're all used to, but any tips on how to make it better are greatly appreciated! It's going to be a crazy next few chapters, and we're going to put them out as quickly as we can write them. As always, feel free to message this account or leave a review if you have any questions or simply want to comment on the story. Thanks! ~Tin

Kit's AN: Some editing… hah, you funny boy. I ended up re-writing and building on the ideas of half this chapter, and then he re-edited again after that… Typing happens to be a bitch when you can barely move your left arm. It's my fault the chapter is so short. The next two parts tie in with each other, so they couldn't be separated, and I hate changing POV in the middle of a chapter. So, since the next part of the story has actually already been written, it just needs to be (heavily) edited, It should be up in the next week or so.


	11. The Child in Red

"Mommy, mommy, look what I made!" shouted a young girl as she ran up to her mother, jumping into the Breton woman's arms. She hefted up a doll made from sticks and the vines growing up the trees surrounding their house. The small figure's hair was made out of tiny white flowers.

"Oh honey, it's beautiful. Who is it?" The woman smiled as she carried her small daughter over to the table, where she sat her down before turning back to their dinner.

"You mommy, of course." Her hyperactive daughter bounced up and down on her seat, making the old wood creak. Out of the corner of her eye, the mother saw a figure advance upon her daughter, slowly sneaking up behind her. The small girl of course didn't notice, too preoccupied with her mother and the doll she had made. The creaking of the bench covered the shadow's approach.

"ROAR!" The small girl screamed at her father, who had snuck up behind her. She jumped off the bench, and ran to the other side of the table, picking up a spoon along the way. "I'm a dragon, and I have come to kidnap the beautiful young princess." The large Nordic man grinned as he slowly stalked around the table, following his daughter in circles. His wife was watching from the fire, slowly stirring tonight's venison soup.

"Away foul beast, away! I shan't be taken to your castle!" Their daughter tried to maintain a stern frown, but within seconds the little girl was smiling, her clear white eyes sparkling. She was trying to use her small wooden spoon as a type of dagger, holding it out in front of her. The mother made a mental note to begin teacher her daughter how to properly hold a weapon. Her husband roared once again and charged at their little girl, scooping her up in his large arms. The girls giggles reverberated through the house as her father, 'the dragon', attacked her by way of tickles.

The mother took the pot of stew off the fire then turned, brandishing her large wooden stirring spoon, and faced the dragon. "Halt ye monster, You shall drop the princess at once, or face the consequences." Her husband stopped tickling their daughter, but kept a hold of her around the waist.

"And what, oh fierce and mighty warrior, might that be?" He grinned at her. She gave him a frown, acting as if she were thinking then returned her husband's grin.

"No supper."

"I surrender, oh mighty one." He gently dropped their daughter on her feet, and the little girl went running back to her seat. Once seated, she stared at her empty bowl as if the food might simply appear by will. The man walked around the table and kissed his wife on her cheek before taking a seat at the head of the table, watching as she served the food.

They didn't have much. The majority of the food went to at least fill their daughter's bowl halfway. The rest was split between the two of them, along with some grilled leeks from storage. The winter had been hard so far, and their stores were starting to run low. If they couldn't find any game soon they would have to venture to town and use up the last of their gold. The mother frowned down at her bowl, staring at the meager portion it contained. At least their daughter would enjoy it.

-0- -0- -0- -0- -0-

"Baby girl, I need you to stay in here. Don't come out, no matter what, okay?" The girl nodded mutely, her large scared eyes staring up at the solemn face of her father. Her mother was over by the door, holding it closed from the beating on the other side of it. She had a dagger in each hand; the metal was gleaming in the low firelight. The girl winced as her mother jolted from another heavy blow to the wooden door.

"We love you honey, don't ever forget that." Her father kissed her on the forehead, and set her down in the closet. He closed the slatted door, and his daughter watched as he turned to join her mother, drawing his war axe from his hip. He gave her mother a kiss before nodding to her. They both stepped away from the door and it burst open.

A large group of men in ragged furs stormed through the door. Their faces were dirty, and their weapons were already drawn. They slowly surrounded her parents without attacking. They were all eerily silent. Once her parents were surrounded, a large Orcish man walked in. He had a large battle axe strapped to his back. The girl had never seen an Orc before, and covered her mouth to keep the squeak from escaping her.

"Malik, Aerin, you have been charged with abandonment of your lord. Your lord has spoken and you have no say in this trial. Your charge is death. After your death, our lord has commanded that your daughter be sacrificed in reparation." With the Orc's last words, her father let loose a war cry and attacked the nearest person. The young Argonian was not ready for this and his head was removed in a single swing.

With the opening made by her husband, Aerin ducked out of the circle and went straight for the leader. She managed to land a dagger in his side before the butt of his axe hit her in the shoulder. She reeled back, trying to regain her balance before his next swing. Thankfully Malik came in and blocked the Orc's next swing, leaving her to hold off the lighter enemies.

They fought for what seemed like hours, but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. They were able to fell the Orc, but soon they were overwhelmed by the lackeys. Bodies littered the floor, and from the original group of eighteen, only six were left alive. Quite a few more were left to bleed out from their wounds upon the rough wooden planks. The remaining six circled around the downed couple once more. Aerin had a sword through her belly, she wouldn't survive much longer. Malik however had been downed by an iron dagger severing the muscles in the back of his knee, a final strike from a dying rouge.

The husband kissed his dying wife once final time, before trying to crawl in the opposite direction of the closet his daughter was in. He was hoping to lead them away from where his baby was hidden, keep them guessing in the wrong places. He had reached the edge of the circle when a female wood elf kicked him in the stomach. The circle shifted, and he started crawling again. This cycle continued, with different members of the six kicking him when he got to close to the edge. Finally they grew tired of their game, and it ended with a large Redguard stomping on his destroyed knee.

The young daughter winced as her father screamed. Tears were running down her face. Mommy wasn't moving anymore. She had died not to far from the entrance to her hiding spot, and the blood was slowly seeping under the door. She backed as far back into the closet as she could while keeping her eyes on her still struggling father. He had been trying to get away, trying to crawl away from where she was hidden. That was wrong, she wanted to see daddy's face again, wanted to see him smile at her.

Her father's yells were cut off when a boot stomped down on his neck. She could hear the snap from where she was. Once their pray was dead, they began their search. They started with the side of the house that Malik had been crawling towards, and tore the house apart.

"No, no, no, no…" She was slowly rocking back and forth. The tears had stopped, and she was staring at the blood splattered closet door. She froze when she felt something soak through the thin cloth of her shoes. She stared down blankly at the blood that had reached her and was slowly being absorbed into her clothing.

"No, No, No…" She tried to scoot back even further, but she had reached the wall. Her hands scrambled across the floor, desperate to get away. She gasped when something cut her hand. She grabbed the small knife off the floor and raised the bleeding hand to her face.

"No, No, No, No…" She could hear them talking outside their voices slowly moving closer, but she paid them no mind. All she could think about was the pain that surrounded her, filled her, the blood on her hands… As the blood welled from the cut the carving knife had made on her hand, so did the pain within her swell, overtaking her and drowning her in it. And along with this pain, came something new, something she had no name for…

She screamed as she jumped out the doors, using her knife to attack her parent's murderers.

"NOOOOO!" Her world went red…

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

And Galleia screamed as she woke up on the soft fox pelts that covered her bed in her home atop the throat of the world. The red slowly faded from her vision as she fell back upon her bed. She wouldn't sleep again that night, because somewhere in the back of her head, a small girl was crying in a corner clutching a bloodstained knife in her hands with mauled bodies surrounding her. Mommy and Daddy… Where did you go?

Kit: Hello. This is my Christmas present to all of you, but mostly to my co-writer. This one I wrote completely on my own. Sorry for being gone so long.

Tin: I knew that was Galleia as soon as she mentioned the white eyes. Anyone else have an "oh damn" moment there? We've planned out most of the rest of the story, so all we need to do now is write chapters. Our biggest block to uploading was that we weren't exactly sure what the next chapter would be about, but we've planned out roughly 5 chapters. Thanks for reading, and Merry Christmas!


	12. Fire in the Sky

"_**FUS!**_" The small rust colored Dovah was pushed back from the force of the elder dragon's shout. Its wings lost their stabilization and the childish Dovah that had dared to attack an elder flipped upon its back in mid-air and plummeted to the earth. The sound of solid rock being quickly ground into dust by eight tons of screaming and writhing scaled flesh was nearly deafening.

"_I SURRENDER OLD ONE" _Came a cry from the newly made crater, the draconic syllables slithering through the air. The elder Dovah landed gracefully on the edge of the crater, years of experience showing through the precision of the landing. The young one was groveling beneath, in the base of the crater, its head bowed in a submissive position. "_YOU HAVE BESTED ME"_

The elder said nothing, and simply examined the impulsive Dovah. The young one had simply fallen out of the sky, aiming for an instant kill, or at least to maim. Unfortunately, the Dovah had issued a war cry as it fell; giving away its presence long before it ever reached the old general. However, it had found with experience and skill. Too much experience to have been so easily submitted….

Paarthurnax roared a scream as a second dragon tore through the membrane of his right wing.

Galleia fumed as she stormed out of the monastery. She didn't know who this sorry excuse for a man was, but nothing good could affect her like that. That smell still wafted in the air about her, the smell of blood and pain. The mere thought made her head spin. That delicious…

No, she couldn't think like that. That was the kind of thinking that would destroy her careful control over her desires. She really needed to kill something. She growled as she made her way up the mountain. If she couldn't kill the man himself, she would at least have to convince the Greybeards to get rid of him.

These thoughts continued until she ran into Lydia. The other woman had obviously been running. "Gall… Dragons… attacked…" The woman was trying to huff out what she had to say.

"Lydia, calm down, catch your breath. You're no use if you can't talk straight." She took a second to catch her breath, before repeating what she had attempted to say before.

"Galleia, a couple dragons attacked Paarthurnax. He's hurt." She looked like she was going to say more, but Galleia had already taken off up the mountain. She ran as fast as she could. Now that she wasn't so self-absorbed into her thoughts, she could hear the distant sounds of fighting.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" She wanted to use her shouts to move even faster, but she needed to conserve herself. She had no doubt that the second she reached the top of the mountain, the assailants would take off, and she would need to ground them.

As she reached the peak, all she could make out was a pile of writhing dragons. Every now and then she could make of flashes of Paarthurnax's golden scales among the black and rusty orange scales of the two attacking dragons. She drew her dual war-axes, and the pile separated. Paarthurnax was left on the ground. He was bleeding from several gashes over his body. However, she didn't have time to examine him completely, because the others were already moving. The black one took into the sky, while the orange one went directly for her.

The battle with the orange one was fierce, but short. He had been grounded, so she was easily able to doge most of his attacks. Once he was dead, she looked up to the sky to search for the other, but she couldn't find him amongst the clouds. She would have to assume he was gone for now.

She ran over to Paarthurnax, who still hadn't moved from the small crater the fighting dragons had created. Once she reached him, she had to force herself to continue walking. One of his wings had nearly reduced to bone. He might never fly again.

After spending so much time with the old Dovah, she had learned that one of his greatest joys was flying. When he flew, he felt like he wasn't confined to this mountain, if only for a moment. Even if the confinement was self inflicted, it still grated against him. Almost as much as confinement grated against her.

She wanted to do something to help him, but if there was one area she knew nothing about, it was dragon medicine. She didn't know any shouts that would heal. She tried using the single basic healing spell she had picked up in her days as Arch-mage, but it didn't seem to do much good. She used every potion she had on his wounds, hoping that they would at least stop the bleeding. Thankfully, they did just that.

Eventually there was nothing else she could do, and she just sat on the edge of the crater. Not too long after Lydia joined her and told her that she had informed the Greybeards of what was happening. Bori came up not long after to assess Paarthurnax's condition, then returned to his brothers. The black dragon never returned.

Galleia spent the entire night on the side of that crater. She couldn't sleep. She wouldn't sleep. Not until he woke up. At one point in the night she went inside and grabbed the little wooden staff off of her bedroom wall. Once she returned to her post, she let that staff torment her. There was one thing she could do for the dragon she loved, but she wouldn't. Not without his permission.

Damn her humanity.

Kit: Hey there boys and girls. This is a two part chapter, split in half for convenience. I'm doing this chapter without consultation, so sorry if it sucks, but my co-author is stuck somewhere else. Sorry. Also, I'm going to punch him in the face on Wednesday.

Tin: Okay, she technically did it without consultation. I fixed a few spelling mistakes and awkward sentences, but I left the story itself alone. Enjoy! We'll probably work on the next chapter tonight and finish it up on Wednesday. Speaking of which, Wednesday will be the first time we'll have written when we're actually together, as we usually write over Skype.


	13. Daanik

The next day dawned, and Paarthurnax finally woke up. It wasn't dramatic. He simply opened one of his large eyes and turned his head slightly to the right so that he could better see her. However, for Galleia, it was like he had jumped up and started dancing. A smile lit up across her face and she slid down the crater to sit in front of him so he didn't have to move anymore.  
>"Hey there, you scared me."<p>

"There's no need to fear. I am fine, the young ones were no match." Despite his words, Paarthurnax did not move from his crater. Galleia frowned, did he know about his torn wing? That was one of his largest wounds, but there were so many… "What, may I ask, happened to the two insolent children who attacked me?"

"I killed the rust colored one, the black one got away. I've kept watch all night, he never returned." A low growl emanated from Paarthurnax's as he rolled off his side onto his belly. He slowly crawled out of the crater and into the snow in front of the word wall. A fresh wash of blood fell from a reopened wound on his right foreleg.

"Daanik!" Galleia winced, but did not rise from her spot on the ground. She simply watched at the old Dovah struggled to remain standing. His mangled wing stayed closed at his side, which meant he knew… She would have to leave him, give him time to grieve. She wanted to help him, but the old dragon's pride was vast, and there wasn't much she could do anyways.

Now she just needed an excuse to leave… She quickly went back over the events of the previous day. Her face immediately twisted into a snarl. Her anger at the apprentice himself had lessened overnight, dimmed by pure worry and fear, but her anger at Paarthurnax's condition compounded that, re-creating the storm of anger she had felt last night.

"I'm going to leave Lydia up here to watch for the black one while you recover." She rose from the cold patch of stone she had been sitting on. "Meanwhile, I must go converse with the Greybeards about that new apprentice. He cannot be allowed to stay."

"I understand, Sot'Miin. Go, take care of what you must. I must advise caution, however. "

"Of course, and as always you will most likely be that voice of reason." With that, Galleia grabbed the staff and entered her home. She gathered her Dragonscale armor and strapped her two daedric war axes to her hip. She exited, gave a final grin to Paarthurnax, who had lain down in the curve of the word wall, and started towards the monastery.

The walk back down to the monastery was spent attempting to control the volatile storm of fury brewing inside of her. Paarthurnax was right, she needed to be careful. "Get this guy the hell out of here" would probably not work. So even though she wanted to rage until everything was back to normal, she could not. It was that very rage that was the reason he had to go to begin with.

Galleia paused outside of the monastery doors. The large structure loomed above her, casting her in shadows as she leaned against one of the stone pillars, slowly sliding down to sit with her legs tucked against her chest. Her head rested between her knees and she simply only sound she could her was that of the swirling snow rushing by on the winds that blew around the mountain.

She had thought she could handle this. The girlish infatuation she had once had towards the dragon had been replaced over the years with a deeper love. Love… Even after all this time it was still new to her. Most of her life had been either cold numbness or bloody red rage. Emotional pain, helplessness… It was something she hadn't felt since she was a little girl, hiding in a blood stained closet….

_Crunch._ Her head snapped up when she heard footsteps through the fresh snow. One of the brothers was approaching from the direction of the tower, most likely Arngeir. He probably wanted an update on Paarthurnax's condition. Good, she needed to talk to him anyways. She pulled herself up from the ground and met him halfway across the courtyard.

"Greetings Dragonborn. Before any other formalities, I must enquire as to the condition of our leader. How is Paarthurnax?" The old man's voice was as calm as always, his hands folded into his sleeves. He appeared to be studying her, probably judging her condition after yesterday. They had no way of knowing that her main problem right now was bleeding on top of that mountain.

"He has awoken. He claims he will be alright, and I have done all that I can to help." Well... almost all. Arngeir's eyes narrowed, almost as if he had heard that last thought. It truthfully wouldn't even surprise her anymore.

"And you Dragonborn, how are you faring, I have heard that you were up all night watching over our leader." There was something about the way he said watching... He sounded suspicious... He couldn't know...

"I needed to watch for the second attacker. It got away, and someone needed to keep watch to make sure it didn't come back to try and finish the job." He still looked suspicious, but apparently he decided to let it drop, because he turned his back on her, and started back towards his tower.

"Arngeir, I need to talk to you about that apprentice." She called out to him, but the old man just kept walking, calmly throwing back a response over his shoulder.

"There is nothing to talk about, Dovahkiin. The apprentice will stay." With that, the youngest of the Greybeards disappeared into the small stone tower they used for meditation.

Tin's AN: This is a (slightly) late 1 year D to DK anniversary present. We wrote this one in Google docs, which is nowhere near as fun as one might think. We were also going to cut this chapter off a bit later than we did, but it's late and we're tired. Oh, and Kit's gone approximately 40 hours without sleep. Next chapter will be up eventually. Oh, and Happy New Year! Unless you're Chinese, in which case, Happy (Chinese) New Year in a few days!

Kit AN: TIn completely killed any desire I had to write or continue this chapter. So if you wanted a longer chappie, blame it on him. And it was not 40 hours without sleep. He is obviously drug addled because it's only been 32 hours with 4 hours asleep. What can I say, I got Dovahkiin yesterday, and those little reikling thingies are adorable.

Tin's AN, Part II: :)


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